Page 76 of Resolute

“Ava’s still bleeding,” I blurt out instead of telling her gently.

Camila’s face goes pale as I squeeze my eyes shut.I need to learn to deliver news better. At this rate, I’m going to give her a heart attack.

“What?” she asks in disbelief, rushing to the living room.

When we reach Ava, there is a red stain on the blanket where her knee rests. She’s asleep, but I’m not sure if that’s a good thing.

“Vicente, please grab my bag. We need to take her to the hospital. I don’t have anything here to stop the bleeding,” Camila says, scooping Ava up.

I snap into action, grabbing her bag and closing the door behind me.

“Which hospital?” I ask after helping Camila into my car, Ava still cradled in her arms.

“Saint Mary’s,” she says, rocking Ava gently, murmuring words meant only for her.

I punch the address into the navigation system, sending up a silent prayer when I see it’s only an eight-minute drive.

By the time we get to the hospital, Ava is awake but groggy.How much blood has she lost?

The moment we enter A&E—the emergency room— I don’t hesitate.

“We need a doctor—immediately,” I shout.

Heads turn in our direction, but I don’t give a fuck if I’m making a scene—my little friend needs help.

“Calm down, sir. I’ll be with you in a moment to take your details, then we’ll get you in the queue for a nurse in triage,” the receptionist says.

I need to take a deep breath because I don’t have patience for this bullshit.

“Vicente, come on,” Camila murmurs next to me.

There’s no way I’ll sit down and do nothing while Ava is still bleeding. I help Camila and Ava into a seat in the row of chairs that line the waiting area. Once I know they’re settled, I stride to the triage station in two quick steps.

“Ava Flores is a five-year-old who suffers from thalassemia. She fell at school and her bleeding hasn’t stopped. She needs a doctor. Now.” I practically growl the last word, but the receptionist remains impassive.

“Here. Use this for whatever you need,” I say, taking out my black card and placing it on the counter.

The receptionist scoffs as she looks me up and down. “I’m not sure who you are, sir, but that’s not how things work here.” She moves the card back toward me, her tone dismissive.

I fist my hands. It takes everything in me not to lose it. The only reason I’m restraining myself is because I don’t want to startle Ava—or Camila.

“Listen,” I say, my voice rising. “I do not give a flying fuck how things work here. I need a doctor. Now!”

My outburst draws the attention of several nurses and doctors in A&E, who quickly gather around me.

A doctor who looks to be in his sixties, with white hair and deep wrinkle lines on his forehead, steps forward.

“I’m Dr. Harris. What’s going on?” he asks, his tone authoritative.

“Ava Flores,” I repeat urgently. “She’s five years old, suffers from thalassemia, and she’s bleeding.”

The doctor’s eyes widen, and he nods immediately. “Right this way.” He scans the waiting room for Ava, but Camila is already on her feet, following close behind him.

I turn back to face the receptionist, lowering my voice with a deep growl. “Pray that little Ava makes it out of this without any complications. Otherwise, you can kiss your job goodbye. We don’t need incompetents in the medical system.”

She gasps, her face pale as I grab my card. Without another glance, I follow Camila, Ava, and the doctor down the hallway.

“Only family can stay with the patient,” the doctor says.

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